Author: Aussie Lass

Email: aussielassie@gmail.com

Beta: Flightless Pegasus

Word Count: 969

Rating: PG

Characters: Maedhros, Fingon, Maeglin, Gil-Galad, Namo, Glorfindel, Ecthelion

Summary: Gil-Galad arrives in the halls.

Original Request: Characters: Maeglin, Thranduil, Maedhros : Pairings:  Maeglin/any, Thranduil/any, Maedhros/Fingon : Other Characters: Thranduil : Favorite Color: black : Nouns: love hate tears : Not Nouns: eat drink die : Places: Gondolin, Eryn Lasgalen, Imladris

It was quite a long time before another large contingent of dead elves showed up in the halls.  Maeglin had no idea how to gage how much time had passed, exactly; a lack of seasons, time of day, and any way to measure the years made it all rather difficult to determine.

Then came the fateful day when one after another they began to appear, as if the spirits were swarming all at once.  There was quite a lot of commotion and chaos, almost to the point of overwhelming Namo.  It was the perfect time for Maeglin to weave his way through the crowd and look for possible stragglers.

Maeglin had found that he was now lonely, more so than ever before.  Everyone in his immediate family had been reborn already, and yet he had not been released.  Not that he had found companionship with any of them, save for his mother, who had spent her time in Mandos more interested in the affairs of her brothers and some uncle named Celegorm who only ever seemed to say ‘I told you Eol was ill news’.

Most of the new arrivals were concerned with the welfare of their comrades; some knew others within the halls already.  One in particular, standing off to the side, seemed quite put off by the fact he was where he was.  Everyone gave him a wide berth, and no one engaged him in conversation.

Within an instant, Maeglin managed to slide up alongside the warrior.  He was dressed in blue and gold, his weaponry gilded under the dust and blood.  “Greetings,” spoke Maeglin.

“Where is Elrond?”

“Uh... I do not believe I have met his acquaintance,” apologized Maeglin as Namo suddenly appeared.

“Your herald is yet within the realm of the living,” said the Vala.  “You, however, are not.”

“Imagine that.  I was wondering what the bright explosion that caused me to spontaneously combust was going to lead to.  Thank you for the explanation.”

Namo narrowed his eyes, yet said nothing as he glided off to another newly arrived soldier.

“He means well,” said Maeglin once Namo was gone.  “Just doing his job, you know.”

“Who are you?” asked the warrior, who gave him a good look up and down.

“Oh, I thought I already mentioned that... well, let me show you around!” Maeglin looped his arm through one of the soldier’s armored ones and frowned.  “You really will not need those,” he said of the spear and shield.  “Being dead and all now.”

The shield was thrown to the side where it passed through the apparition of another soldier without damaging him in the slightest.  The spear was kept and used as a walking stick on their journey through the caverns and caves (which looked ridiculous since they were floating above the ground).  Maeglin kept them going at a fast pace, and avoided anyone who might attempt a polite conversation which could lead to ‘I see you’ve met the traitor’.

When the newcomer finally requested a pause, Maeglin did so reluctantly.  They were in the alcove that Maeglin oft hid in, though Maedhros and Fingon had reached it first.  The pair was much too involved with one another to notice they were no longer alone.

“So, how long have you been here?” The question was asked in a very quiet voice to keep from disrupting the lovers in the corner.

“Oh... a long time, I think.”  Maeglin nodded to himself.  “A while.”

“First age?  Gondolin?”

Maeglin flinched.  “Maybe.”

“You look familiar to me.  I think I might have seen you in a history book.  Are you by chance called Maeglin?”

“My name is Lomion,” bluffed Maeglin, but the newcomer grinned at the answer.

“That would be akin to me answering that I am Ereinion, not Gil-Galad, when asked.  I know much about you,” admitted Gil-Galad.  “I have read many things.”

“Books can be very deceptive,” said Maeglin hastily.  “They tend to embellish stories sometimes.”

“And sometimes, they outright lie about things.  For instance,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the pair still oblivious to them, “the stories about King Fingon are highly deceptive.”

“Oh?” 

A little louder, Gil-Galad announced, “He always swore there was nothing going on between him and Maedhros, but obviously he was lying to me.”

Not far away, a horrified Fingon now noticing they were not alone (yet not aware that the rude warrior was his son) shoved in vain at Maedhros and shouted at him, “I TOLD you they could see us!” before gliding away.  A disheartened Maedhros gave chase immediately.

“So just what do the history books say about me?” asked Maeglin curiously.

Gil-Galad shook his head.  “Nothing worth repeating.  But I should like to know your version of things.  I do know that you were the one to reinforce Gondolin after being returned from your capture; it is certain you did not willingly wish for the realm to fall.”

Maeglin stared in shock.  “You would give me a chance to tell my side of the story?”

“Why not?”  Gil-Galad looked around.  “Is this not the place of healing and forgiveness?”

And so they easily became closer friends, sharing the stories and tales of their lives.  The friendship grew, and even in that dim and lonesome place, sparked something more.

“Do you think we should let them know they are kin?” asked Ecthelion of Glorfindel one day just after the pair had passed by, hands clasped, deep in conversation and ignorant of all else.

“Cousins hardly count as kin around here,” argued Glorfindel.  “Look at Maedhros and Fingon.”

“Please do not make me,” begged Ecthelion.  A sudden noise alerted them to the fact that more inhabitants were arriving.  “Want to play ‘guess how that one died’?”

“Love to,” said Glorfindel as he followed Ecthelion toward the latest newcomers.